This little A5 sketchbook (for those of you who have been asking, I dig these Quill journals from Officeworks: casebound because I hate spiral binding, and 125gsm pages so markers and paint don't bleed) is the most packed sketchbook I've owned in a long time.
It's full of scraps of paper, little loose drawings, pressed flowers and leaves, stationary samples, stickers, and little reminders of whatever I've been up to lately. And it's crazy crowdedness makes me happy, because it's a very true reflection of my collecting and cluttering and examining and recording.
It seems like a very honest little book.
Whether it's grand plans or tiny escapes, strange trips or logical plots, whiskey-driven epiphanies or guitar-stringed revelations... there's something to be said for spiralling down the weird rabbit-hole of dreams.
Because the people who do -- the dreamers -- are the ones who find a new way to see things, a crazy creative bent that changes the whole mental landscape and, occasionally, the world.
Embrace your inner spacehead dreamer.
If only it really was that quick...